30 Day Fanfic Challenge
by MyQuantumTheory
Summary: Hi! I'm doing a 30 Day Fanfic Challenge from tumblr - I expect it to take me longer than 30 days but it'll get done! (No promises upfront about who will or won't appear, I'm literally coming up with an idea based on the prompt and writing it, and some characters show up more often in my inspiration than others. Expect lots of Prentiss.)
1. Chapter 1: Honesty

Emily wraps her hands around her coffee mug the second the waitress puts it on the table, murmurs her thanks with half a smile and looks back at Clyde. Just the sight of him makes her antsy, although that seems to be true of pretty much everything recently. She's been back in DC a month and she's starting to realise thing aren't going to be how they were.

"How are you adjusting?" Clyde asks.

He's asked her that question before so many times, and she's answered it as so many people, that she can only smile ruefully at him. "Emily Prentiss is alive," she replies.

He smiles back, raises his mug, and she raises hers and clinks. They sip, and she stares out of the café window even though she can feel Clyde looking at her. She watches the bustle of DC, tries to picture herself a seamless part of it, like she was before, and feels Doyle looming over every memory she recalls. It makes her feel sick and sad, the inevitability of this falling apart every bit as strong as the inevitability Doyle would find her. "You know," Clyde says, after a silence just a little too long, "this place suits you better than I thought it would. I couldn't imagine why you'd want to join the FBI of all things, but your team is really something."

He raises his eyebrows as she turns to him, and she can feel the ghost of a smile on her face. Despite everything, the thought of her team was what made bad nights in Paris bearable. She wants to say, _I love them_ , but she knows better. "It's a more interesting job than you led me to believe," she says instead, and Clyde laughs.

"Well, I wanted to keep you as long as I could." He takes another sip of coffee and watches the smile fade from her face. "They couldn't stand to lose you," he says, and her gaze snaps back to his. "Do you know what Agent Hotchner said to me? He said, 'If anything happens to her, I will destroy you'. He meant it, darling."

She looks down at her coffee, blows softly to disperse the steam but finds tears threatening anyway. She has tried not to imagine the team trying to find her, the fear they would've felt and the unthinkable threat that would've hung over everything. But she has wondered about Hotch, imagined his relentless intensity focused on finding her, how he would've felt when they didn't make it on time to stop her from getting hurt… "He would have, too," she tells Clyde eventually, her lips twitching up a little.

When she can meet Clyde's eyes again, there's a flicker of something like satisfaction there. For a moment she wonders what she's given away that he wanted, then he says, "Do yourself a favour, Emily. Call him." She feels heat flood her cheeks, starts to object but Clyde cuts her off. "Do you remember what you told me about why you didn't want to be undercover any more?"

"I told you a lot of things," she replies, which is so obviously evasive she doesn't expect him to acknowledge she said anything at all.

"You told me it was time to live your own life," he says, "without thinking every single move had the potential to destroy everything. Can you honestly say you've done that, since joining the BAU?"

She closes her eyes, opens them again to look out of the window. "Clyde?" she says, a smile creeping into her voice as she feels a little weight lift from her chest.

"Yes."

"Sometimes I hate you a little bit."

He laughs, reaches across the table and squeezes her shoulder. "I can live with a little bit."


	2. Chapter 2: Children

"I need to know that I can be human."

Her words hit him harder than either of them expected, and on the jet home he keeps his distance, sits as far away as he can and reads a case file, checks his emails, makes a couple of notes he'll need for the paperwork when they get back…

He tells himself he was right to admonish her, that he can't have her scooping up and adopting every orphaned kid they come across. But his reassurance dies as soon as he's thought it: she has never made a suggestion like this before. If the softness he saw in her scared him, that's his problem, not hers. Eventually, JJ pats Emily's leg and moves away to get some sleep, and he gives her a second to settle then moves to the seat opposite Emily. She looks at him sideways then turns her gaze back to the window. "Hi," she says, her voice quiet and controlled.

He's surprised to find it hurts: the barriers she's been letting down slowly are back up in full force, and it reminds him how far they've come, her and him and them, and the value and fragility of the tenuous trust they've been building. He finds himself wondering when they got close enough to hurt each other like this.

He looks around the rest of the jet, sees everyone sleeping or wearing headphones. "I shouldn't have suggested you were unprofessional," he says quietly.

She turns her head to look at him properly and sits up straight, squaring her shoulders. "No," she agrees. "I'm a lot of things. I'm not that."

He nods. "I know. I'm sorry."

For a moment she thinks she's going to try to justify herself, to explain again that it would only have been a couple of years, that it would've been hardly any trouble, that she's delighted the family have been in contact… Instead, her mind full of the big blue eyes of a boy she'd do anything to protect, she sighs, sees Hotch is still watching her, his expression unreadable. She runs through their interaction, tries to remove her own feelings from her memory of it, the flare of anger she felt when he said the word _objective_. Something clicks into place in her mind and she finds herself softening. "Hotch," she says, her voice gentle. "When I said that, about being human…"

He gives almost nothing away, just tilts his chin up by the tiniest fraction, but it's enough to tell her she's figured out what's bothering him. "I didn't mean you're not," she goes on. "I just meant…" She sighs, folds her arms on the table in front of her and leans toward him a little. She expects him to pull away, but if anything his hand shifts toward her a little. "We all need to be objective when it counts. But this job, this life – it's easy to start to think you need to be like that all the time. Sometimes you've got to just…" She puffs out a breath, leans back and wraps her arms around her waist. "I need to remember that sometimes." She doesn't add, _and so do you_ , but they both hear it hanging in the air.

"It's not easy," he says, his voice low.

She reaches across the table before she can talk herself out of it, takes his hand and squeezes softly. "I know."


	3. Chapter 3: Apology

**Someone sent me a message suggesting a reimagining of** ** _100_** **where Emily gets to the house first. I couldn't get that out of my head when I saw the prompt** ** _Apology_** **, so I went with it. (There may or may not be a part 2 already in the works...)**

Garcia's tapped them in on the line. She hears Hotch forbidding Emily to go in, and Emily telling him he's in no position to make that call. She hears Emily tell Hotch she loves him, and he better get here fast. She hears everything Foyet says to Emily, the taunting and goading, and hears Emily's measured replies. Emily talks Foyet into exchanging Jack and Haley for her. She tells them evenly to get outside. Then she's telling him he doesn't need to do this, but if he's going to do it he'd better stop messing around. And then Penelope can hear the unmistakable sounds of them fighting, and feels Kevin's hands on her shoulders, and she turns into him and sobs.

JJ's eyes fill with tears and she exchanges a look with Rossi – they both hold on tight as Morgan puts his foot down.

Hotch is close, coming to the end of his street, tears practically blinding him. It's like Colorado but a thousand times worse and she's in there because of him… He screeches to a halt outside his house, runs up the path, gun in hand, Reid right behind him. "Reid," he says. "Ambulance. Haley -"

"She's inside," Haley sobs, clutching Jack to her chest. "I called the police and an ambulance – I didn't know what else to do, he locked the door – I – Aaron, you have to -"

He steels himself and kicks the door, hard, and it goes down. Foyet is right on the other side, leaning over Emily. Her shirt is shredded, she's handcuffed, the button of her jeans is open and he's driving the knife slowly into the flesh by her hipbone – she barely moves. In a second, Foyet is slumped on the carpet with a bullet wound in the centre of his forehead. "Reid," Hotch says, barely hearing his own voice. "Ambulance. Now. Tell them there's a -"

"Federal agent down, I know, I did," Reid says quickly, following him in, the words tumbling from his mouth. "Haley called, I've got them on the line. They're coming."

Hotch isn't really listening – he kneels over Emily, takes off his jacket and throws it over her, takes the cuffs off. She groans a little. "I'm sorry," he whispers, trying to figure out what he has to do with his shaking hands to stop all of this blood. He can't tell how deep anything is, but Reid is pressing down, talking to her, and she's keeping her eyes open. "Emily," Hotch says. "Look at me…"

She does, and she smiles a little. "Hey. I don't think it's as bad as it looks." She blinks hard, trying to keep her eyes focussed, and finds Reid's face. "It's okay," she tells him, although she's starting to feel tired, darkness starting to bleed into the edges of her vision. He gives her a shaky smile and presses down with his whole weight.

Hotch pushes her hair back from her face. Her eyes are losing focus, drifting up. He finds another bleeding wound and presses down hard on it, his hands slick with her blood. "Stay with me, sweetheart." She blinks, unfocussed, then her eyes find his again. "That's it," he murmurs. You're doing great."

"Jack's okay?"

"Oh god Em… He's fine, he's outside with Haley," he says softly, quickly, and hears sirens and the screech of brakes outside. "I love you."

She smiles. "I love you too."

In the hospital waiting room, Jack falls asleep in Hotch's lap, and he looks at Haley. "If you want to get some sleep I can get you a hotel room, or you can go to my place…"

She shakes her head. "She saved our lives."

He nods, holding Jack closer. He feels more like a miracle now than the day he was born. He presses a kiss to the top of his head. "I'm sorry for everything," he tells Haley, murmuring into Jack's head. He can't look at her.

"I know. Me too." She can't look at him either, so she looks around the waiting room. Rossi is clutching rosary beads, staring down at the floor. JJ stares across the room, silent tears still sliding down her face, her hip pressed against Reid's. He's restless, his foot tapping, and she reaches for his hand and squeezes, rests her head on his shoulder. Morgan has his arm around Garcia and she's curled into his chest and they're holding each other like a life raft. The same way Aaron is holding Jack. For the first time, she starts to get it. These aren't just random people. This isn't just a team. She never understood how he could care as much about the job as he did about his family, but she gets it now. _They're_ his family too. How could they not be, with everything they go through together? "Aaron?" she says quietly, looking at Jack because she can't look at him. "I'm sorry I never understood."


	4. Chapter 4: Forgiven

**This is Part 2, carried on from** ** _Apology_** **. As always, reviews are the fuel of fanfic (;**

Jack wakes with a start and Hotch rubs a hand up and down his back. "It's okay buddy," he says softly, adjusting his position in the stiff waiting room chair as Jack's face burrows into his chest. "I'm here, you're okay…"

"Is Emily okay?" Jack mumbles, so quiet Hotch barely hears him.

"She's hurt pretty badly," he admits, meeting Haley's eyes briefly. "The doctors are trying to make her better now."

Jack nods, cuddling into him. "Daddy?"

"Yeah buddy?"

"Mommy said the bad guy's gone and we can come home."

"That's right," Hotch says. "He's not ever coming back, I promise." His stomach twists with guilt and he strokes Jack's hair. He must have been so afraid… "You can go back to sleep. It's late. It's okay to close your eyes."

"Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"She has to be okay." He wriggles a little to look in his father's eyes. His lip is starting to tremble. "She's brave," he says, his voice tiny and afraid.

"She's very brave," Hotch replies, then his breath catches in his throat and he can't say anything else. He pulls Jack back to his chest, kisses his forehead and looks around at his team. JJ catches his eye and smiles, tears streaming down her cheeks.

When Emily's eyes flutter open, he's there. Her hand twitches toward him and he leans down, presses a kiss to her cheek. She grips his forearm, the closest thing she can manage to a hug with her arms still heavy and tubes everywhere. He pulls back, tucks her hair behind her ear. "Emily, I'm so sorry."

"Don't… Why?" she says sleepily. "You have nothing to be -" Her eyes widen and she looks at the door, suddenly alarmed. "Haley and Jack are okay, right? He -"

"Right," Hotch confirms. "And Foyet is dead. It's okay." She relaxes again, and his fingertips trail up and down her arm. "But Em-"

"Hey," she murmurs, catching his fingers with hers. "I was closest. If you got there first, you'd have gone straight in there. And anyway," she adds, looking up at him with a smile, "you ordered me not to – you should be mad at me."

"Shut up," he mutters, shaking his head and smiling in spite of himself. "Emily, you almost -"

There's a knock at the door and he looks over. "It's Haley and Jack," he says. He hesitates. "Should I…?"

She shuffles up a little on the pillows, wincing. Despite the fog of the pain medication, she hurts in more places than she can count, but she wants to look as healthy as she can for Jack. "Let them in."

Hotch opens the door and they come in. Jack runs straight over, standing on his tiptoes by the bed and looking up at her with wide, serious eyes. "You can come on up if you want to," she says, patting the bed beside her.

Hotch lifts him up and puts him down gently on the bed. "Remember Emily's hurt, okay? Be gentle."

Jack nods solemnly and crawls toward her, snuggles into her with his head on her chest, and she holds him tight. "Hey sweetheart," she whispers. "It's okay. The bad guy's gone now, everything's okay. I missed you." He holds her tighter and she blinks away the tears in her eyes. She looks up at Haley. "Are you okay?"

"We're fine," Haley breathes, her tears slipping unchecked down her cheeks. She leans down, hugs Emily as tight as she can. "Thank you." It doesn't feel like enough, but she doesn't know what else she can say.

"It's okay," Emily whispers back, swallowing back the lump in her throat.

Hotch presses his lips together, trying to keep himself under control. He won't cry in front of Jack. Emily looks up at him and holds her hand out. He takes it and squeezes, and she runs a thumb over his knuckles.

Haley averts her eyes. The easy way they interact, the way he'll let her comfort him – it hurts. But she understands. She saw when she watched her stare down Foyet down the barrel of a gun that Emily understands this Aaron – the one who kicks down doors and can't always get his head out of the case and gets blood all over his hands – in a way she never could, and honestly doesn't want to. He couldn't give her what she needed because he wasn't that man any more, but she couldn't give him what he needed for the same reason. After all this time, she finds she forgives him. This Aaron Hotchner is not a man she knows how to love well. And it looks like Emily does. She looks down at her son cuddled into this woman who saved his life, and what else could possibly matter?


	5. Chapter 5: Funeral

He changes out of the black suit and tie in the hospital bathroom, stashing them in his ready bag, and opens the door of her room slowly. Her eyes are closed, her hair pushed back from her face. She's still attached to all kinds of monitors but she's in her own pyjamas now, having flatly refused the paper hospital gown as soon as she was able to talk, and despite the bruising and the healing cuts on her face, she's starting to look like herself again. He sits down in the chair by her bed, his hands clasped in front of him and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Her eyes open slowly and she smiles when she sees him. "Hi."

"Hey," he replies, his voice cracking a little. He has been silent almost all day, looking around at the devastation his decision caused and wanting nothing more than to tell them all the truth, that she's here, whole…

"It was my funeral today," she says evenly, although there's a touch of sadness in her eyes.

He nods, lost for words. She watches him, blinking slower than normal but otherwise pretty much like herself – her expression is soft and strong despite the pain. _She's getting better_ , he thinks, and finds he can't even feel happy about that today.

"Hotch," she murmurs. "Hey. Look at me."

He looks up and finds he's looking at her through tears – her face blurs in front of him. Something like embarrassment creeps over him. He's supposed to be professional and certain, supposed to reassure her this is the right thing and they're going to catch Doyle and bring her home. He can't do any of it. He looks away again, swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and clears his throat. He thinks of Penelope, who has been crying almost non-stop all day; Morgan so full of guilt he could barely meet anyone's eyes; Reid sobbing into JJ's shoulder…

"Hey," Emily says again. "It's okay, Hotch. Are you listening to me? You made the right choice. And it sucks. And it's okay."

He shakes his head, wants to get up and leave and hide himself somewhere until he can pull himself together, but as the thought crosses his mind her hand reaches out and he takes it in both of his. He listens to the steady beep of the heart monitor that means she's going to be okay. "I know," he says eventually.


	6. Chapter 6: Expectation

After Hankel, Morgan insists on taking Reid home and Garcia insists on joining them – they say goodbye in the parking lot and Emily can hear Garcia describing the dinner she's going to cook them in loving detail as they head for Morgan's car. She and JJ say goodbye to Hotch and Gideon, then JJ turns to her, arms wrapped around herself and her eyes haunted. "I wanted to say thanks," she says. "For um… Getting me out of the house, and not mentioning that I nearly shot you…" She tries a smile, and instead her eyes fill with tears.

"It's okay," Emily tells her softly, wishing there was something she could say to bring back the carefree woman who was dominating the whole bar at darts just a few days ago. "You want some company tonight?"

JJ shakes her head reflexively. "Honestly, I'm fine."

Emily sighs, reaching for JJ's arm and squeezing; JJ takes a wobbly breath. "Let me drive you home at least."

JJ hands over her car keys without much persuasion, and Emily turns the radio on while they drive. By the time they get to JJ's building, tears are rolling unchecked down her cheeks and she doesn't even bother telling Emily not to come in with her – Emily follows half a step behind until she finds herself in JJ's kitchen. "Tea?" she offers. "Coffee?" She pauses, looking around the kitchen for inspiration. "… Hard liquor?"

JJ laughs. "I wouldn't mind, actually. Would that totally ruin your impression of me?"

"Would you quit thinking about what I think of you?" Emily says, reaching for a bottle of spiced rum and a couple of glasses. "You like this?" she asks before pouring, and JJ nods, smiling a little. "There's no wrong way to deal with this, okay?" As she turns away to pour, she adds, "I mean, you don't get to become a serial killer or start listening to only Celine Dion. But crying, freaking out, rum… Those things are all fine."

They sit on the sofa with their drinks, shoes kicked off and feet curled underneath them. JJ turns on the TV and they watch some trashy reality show with the volume turned down low until eventually Emily says, "You know if you want to talk…"

JJ sighs, sips her drink and stares blankly at the TV for a few more seconds before she turns to Emily and meets her eyes. "I love this job," she says fiercely. "I love what I do. But sometimes -" she deflates a little, and Emily's hand settles on her knee and squeezes. "I didn't stop Reid, when he said we should split up. And then those videos made me sick, I couldn't handle it like you guys could, and I still see the dogs when I blink, the mess they made of that poor woman, and I -" She takes a breath to stop the words tumbling out of her and Emily looks evenly back at her. "How do you do it?" she says quietly.

Squeezing JJ's knee again, Emily looks away for a second, pushing back the desperate wish she could explain that she did not come off a desk job. When she looks back, JJ is raising her glass to her lips, her eyes still locked on Emily. Emily takes a drink too, to fill the time it takes to decide what she's going to say. "I _do_ compartmentalise better than most people," she says eventually. "You don't need to be like me to be good at this, you don't _want_ to be like me." She feels JJ's hand on the back of hers and catches her fingers. "You were the one with Reid when it happened," she reminds her. "And you were the one in the barn with those dogs, and you're his best friend." JJ drops her chin to her chest, still looking disappointed in herself, and Emily smiles, reaches across and hooks her finger under JJ's chin and lifts it up. "Your expectations of yourself," she begins, and JJ smiles a little, "are _insane_."


	7. Chapter 7: Bitterness

He goes home after the Milwaukee case expecting the cold shoulder from Haley. He expects her to be in bed, turned away from him, pretending to be asleep beyond all plausibility. He expects to climb into bed feeling sick to his stomach and trying not to accidentally touch her, his heart and mind racing with the threat of losing everything, preparing himself for the argument in the morning.

He honestly does not expect her to be gone.

He sits in Jack's room with his eyes closed and his head in his hands. He tries calling Haley and gets Jessica. She tells him Haley and Jack are sleeping at her place tonight, and Haley has no intention of coming back. "She doesn't want to talk to you tonight," she says, her tone genuinely apologetic. All kinds of bitterness wells up inside him and his jaw clenches so tight he finds he actually can't speak for a few seconds. When he can, he finds his professional voice, says he understands, and to tell Jack goodnight from him. "I will," she says. "I promise." After a moment's hesitation, she adds, "I'm sorry, Aaron."

He ends the call and takes a deep breath that's supposed to calm him but backfires – he launches his cell phone into the hallway and tears well up before he can catch them. He stands up and throws himself from the room, anger pounding through his veins so hard he can barely think, and then his cell phone is ringing at his feet, somehow still in one piece. He looks at the screen. Prentiss. He answers against his better judgement, still feeling more than a little guilty about distrusting her so thoroughly for so long, and on top of that dragging her back just to get her a concussion. "Hotchner."

"Hey," she says, and he can almost hear her reroute. "You sound – are you okay?"

He closes his eyes, releases a breath forcefully. "I'm fine," he says through his teeth.

"Right," she replies, unconvinced. "Listen, I'm sorry to call you at home – if you're busy -"

"No," he says, hears the exhaustion in his voice as some of the adrenaline starts to drain from him, the bitterness turning sad instead of angry. "I'm not busy."

"Hotch…"

Her tone is gentle and soft and he realises at once there's no chance of changing the subject to what she called about. "Haley's gone," he says, more because they're the only two words spinning around and around his brain than because it makes sense to tell her.

"Oh… I'm sorry."

"Me too," he mutters, and finds to his horror there's an aching lump in his throat.

"Come over."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not supposed to be driving right now... I just ordered way too much pizza for one person, and you shouldn't be alone, and I won't make you talk about it. Come over. Please?"

On the last word, he softens, realises she probably doesn't want to be alone after the day she's had either, and for whatever reason chose to call him. He doesn't deserve it, he knows, for a whole host of reasons. But it's not nothing.

When she answers her door, she's changed into sweatpants and a tank top, pulled her hair back in a ponytail so his eyes are drawn immediately to the bandage on her forehead. "I'm okay," she says, as soon as he opens his mouth, and takes his jacket and hangs it up while he wanders to her window, gazes out at DC and wonders what choosing an apartment with this view says about a person. "Profiling me?" she guesses as she appears at his side, and he feels guilty for a moment. But she's smiling. "I won't make you talk about it," she tells him again, moving to sit down on the sofa. He follows, drops down beside her and stares at an empty vase across the room. "But if you want to – however you want to – I'm all ears."

He nods, and when he doesn't say anything she changes the subject. Pizza arrives, Emily offers him a napkin and they eat straight from the box, talking about work and Strauss and Gideon. As he's clearing the pizza box away, a fresh wave of guilt washes over him – he is giving up life with his family for a chance to end up like Jason Gideon, burnt out and isolated and haunted.

When he sits back on the sofa, Emily looks him over and says quietly, "You're not like him, you know?"

"I can't walk away from this job," he says, not quite looking at her, hearing the bite of self loathing in his voice but powerless to cover it up. "Even with everything on the line, I had to come back."

"Because it's part of who you are," she replies. "Doing the right thing and helping people and catching the bad guy. You shouldn't have to give that up. It's not the kind of thing you can just pack away and forget about." She nudges his shoulder with her hand and waits until he looks her in the eyes before going on. "Loving this job doesn't make us broken, Hotch."


	8. Chapter 8: Drive

The week after Doyle dies, Emily takes Declan for a drive – even with Ian gone, it feels too dangerous. She picks him up at school, comforted by how long they make her wait while they check her ID, and then in the car he chooses a radio station and opens a bag of pretzels and they catch up on what's been going on with him at school then settle into comfortable silence until he says, "There's someone following us."

She glances over at him – he's looking intently into the wing mirror on his side. She checks the mirrors, sees the unmarked car that's been behind them since she picked Declan up. "Yeah," she says, taking a pretzel from the bag on his lap. "Those are my friends, JJ and Penelope."

He nods. "Are they following us because of my dad?"

"Kind of," she says. "I'm just being cautious."

He nods again, then sticks his arm out of the window and waves. Penelope waves back from the passenger side of the car behind, and Emily smiles, thinking her family is even weirder now than before.

They go to the beach, pull into the parking lot and they walk along the sand a little – she keeps looking back for JJ and Penelope, and they're there every time. She buys two milkshakes and sits down on a wall with Declan, looking out over the bay.

"Can I ask you some stuff?" Declan asks, stirring his shake with his straw. "There's still… Not everything makes sense yet."

"Of course."

"They told me you were dead," he says immediately, quietly, and the lack of preamble tells her he's been waiting to say this.

"When you were little? The car accident?"

His head drops and he kicks his legs a little, fidgeting with his straw. "No. Last year. Not Lauren, you."

"Oh," Emily says quietly, the weight of her death dropping into her stomach all over again – Reid and Morgan are doing everything they can to protect the team and keep their jobs, but they still barely look at her; JJ and Reid's relationship is damaged beyond repair; Jack lost another woman he loved and still wakes in the middle of the night thinking she's dead. It hurts, all of it, and the reach of it still surprises her. "It was to protect me," she says, and Declan leans into her a little. She puts her arm around him, squeezes his arm. "Your dad and I had a fight and he hurt me really badly and he got away before my team could catch him. He thought he'd killed me – I was lucky he didn't. So we had to let him keep thinking it until we could find him. Everyone had to think it." Declan takes a deep breath and a sip of milkshake and she gives his arm another squeeze. "I'm really sorry."

He nods. "It's okay. I'm sorry…"

She gives him a minute, then says, "Sorry for what?"

He sits up straight and looks sideways at her, then out at the water again. "I feel like I should say sorry for him. For him hurting you. Is that weird?"

"Not weird," she replies. "But you don't need to do that. You're not responsible for any of this."

He sips more milkshake and she stirs hers absently until he speaks again, his voice quiet. "Was he trying to get to me? Is that why you were fighting?"

For a beat, she doesn't know what to tell him. She turns to look at him, his blonde curls wild in even this slight breeze, big blue eyes not nearly as innocent as they once were. She wishes she could've protected him more, wishes he didn't need to know any of this. "Partly," she says eventually. "You were hidden from him. He thought the people who captured him had killed you – do you remember -?"

"The photos," he says quickly. "With the gun. I remember."

She nods. "He was punishing me for letting that happen to you."

Declan's quiet for a long time, processing, and they both sip their shakes and watch a group of kids playing frisbee near the water. "I shouldn't be sad he's gone."

She feels something crack in her chest – she shakes her head, pulls him into a hug and he clings to her, trembling slightly. "I'm sorry about your dad, sweetheart," she whispers, and she can feel his tears on her sweater and lets her own fall as she buries her head in his shoulder.


	9. Chapter 9: Believe

There's a limbo between Doyle's death and the senate committee meeting, and Hotch brings Jack, takeout and wine to the apartment Emily is renting. It's late by the time he decides to do it, nearly Jack's bed time, but despite his best efforts to explain to Jack that Emily is alive, and home now, he's had trouble really believing it, and Hotch doesn't think he can until he sees her. And _he_ wants to see her. He still can't quite believe it himself – he knows their jobs are in real trouble, knows the team are going to be hurt and angry and that she's just lost a man that she must have loved. It's a mess, but he has missed her so much.

When she opens the door Jack bursts into tears in the doorway. Hotch leads him inside, eases the door shut behind them, and Emily drops to the floor at Jack's side, wraps her arms around him and he folds himself into her and sobs into her shoulder. Something shatters inside her – there is no holding back tears, no option to keep herself under control. She holds him close and lets her tears soak into his sweater, and eventually he settles, his sobs turning to sniffles. "You want to come and sit on the sofa?" she asks him softly, wiping her tears away with her sleeve. Jack nods, taking her hand before they even stand up.

Hotch beats them to the sofa, sits down on one side with his arm stretched over the back. Emily knows he's giving her the option – they haven't talked about what their relationship will be, now that she's back. They were tentatively reaching toward becoming something before, spending days together with Jack and evenings together alone, and she was always the one who pushed back against making it official. She hated the secrets she had to keep from him, couldn't imagine making a lifetime commitment with a secret life never quite far enough behind her, when he couldn't know about Declan. She takes a breath and sits by his side, his hand squeezing her shoulder as Jack clambers into her lap. She wipes tears from his cheeks with her thumbs and kisses his forehead. "You know I love you, right?" He nods. "And I am so sorry I had to leave, and -" her voice cracks and she closes her eyes and takes a slow breath "- and I promise I'm back now to stay, okay?" He nods again and leans into her, the warm weight of him a comfort she never imagined she'd feel again. She holds him close, runs her fingertips up and down his back until she knows he's asleep, and then she turns to Hotch. "You know I love you too?" she says, her voice so soft he wouldn't have heard her if he hadn't been waiting for her to say it.

He leans over and kisses her lips softly, picks Jack up and carries him into the bed Emily already has made up with Spiderman covers in her spare room. When he comes back, she's sitting on the sofa with her legs pulled up in front of her. He sits down beside her, slides a hand up her leg, up over her knee and lets it settle on her thigh. She looks at him with wide, dark eyes and he can almost see an apology in them. "I love you," he tells her, fighting the tightness in his throat, and her hand settles over his. "I can't believe you're home…"

He can feel tears threatening, the image of her and Jack crying into each other's shoulders more than he can handle – he reaches around her back, pulls her on top of him, her legs either side of his, and their arms wrap around each other and they hug hard. He buries his face in her neck and breathes deeply, trying to blink away tears. She sits back, her hands on his neck, thumbs brushing over his jaw and fingertips sliding into his hair – it feels so soft and comforting, and when she speaks her voice is gentle. "Aaron, I'm sorry. For never being able to be in this a hundred percent."

He shakes his head reflexively, closes his eyes and feels her reach up to brush a tear from his cheek with her thumb. "It's okay."

She leans forward and kisses his cheekbones, his jaw, finds her way to his lips and his head tilts back and he pulls her close. There's a lot they both need to say with this kiss, and when she pulls back again she's smiling, her eyes shining. "I'm in now," she says softly. "A hundred percent. If you are."


	10. Chapter 10: Morning

_Note: very Jemily - unfortunately ffn won't let me tag two different ships with the same character and Emily Prentiss has lots of sexual / romantic tension..._

JJ stands at the window of their hotel room with her arms wrapped around herself, looking out at the Eiffel tower and the lightening sky, the earliest commuters starting to emerge onto the street. It almost doesn't feel real – the postcard perfection of the image, and Emily behind her on the bed, somehow alive but maybe never coming home…

Emily sits on the bed behind her, fidgeting with the neckline of her sweater. She wants to say something, anything, to make this moment less sad, but she can't. JJ is leaving tonight, and then she won't be Emily Prentiss. Maybe never again. She closes her eyes against the tears, pressing her fingers hard against Doyle's brand as if she can make it disappear. Her throat tightens so much it hurts, but she doesn't want to cry again.

"You know, my sister always wanted to come here…" JJ says softly, without turning around. "She used to talk about it all the time. Then she stopped, like the future just disappeared for her, and I didn't even think about it…"

Emily feels a whole new wave of sadness sweep over her. JJ has woken Emily up in the night numerous times crying about her sister, and she always talks like this – like she should've known somehow, or been able to stop her. Now she's going to wake up without her. Emily gets up, wraps her arms around JJ's waist and buries her face in her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she says, and hopes JJ understands. She's sorry about JJ's sister, of course, but also about hijacking Paris for her, and for leaving her alone.

JJ folds her arms over Emily's, wraps her hands around her wrists and holds her there. "Don't be sorry, Emily," she says quietly. She turns round, holds Emily at arm's length by the shoulders – Emily holds her gaze, looking sad and afraid and in pain. "We'll find him," JJ says. "We'll find him and get him and then you'll come home. I don't want you to spend your time here feeling guilty about this."

Emily's hands come up to JJ's waist, the soft curve warm under her palms as she steps closer – JJ's arms settle around her shoulders and they smile sadly at each other, faces an inch apart. "I don't want you to feel guilty either. No matter what happens, in Paris or DC or Afghanistan, you're making the only calls you can, and you're doing a good job. You hear me?"

JJ feels a clench in her chest, drops her gaze down to Emily's feet, and when she looks back up her vision is swimming with tears. Emily's hands tighten on her waist, pull her closer, and when their lips meet her tears spill over. Emily wipes them away, kisses her again, lightly, then takes her hand and pulls her toward the bed. They lie down, wrap themselves around each other as close as they can get and finally, after weeks of planning and holding it together and reassuring each other, let themselves feel the approaching loss.


	11. Chapter 11: History

_"_ _I think you have more stories about bad dates and terrible exes than anyone else I've met," JJ said, shaking her head sympathetically._

 _Penelope nodded. "Yeah. And you've been all over the world! What about thrilling tales of being swept off your feet by unfeasibly attractive men with exotic accents? I refuse to believe there isn't at least one."_

 _Emily faltered, suppressed a faraway smile too slowly, and JJ and Penelope leaned forward eagerly. "It's – I mean, it didn't turn out great," Emily said, with the air of someone about to change the subject._

 _"_ _Oh, uh uh Emily Prentiss, tell us more," Penelope urged, sliding Emily's cocktail closer to her._

 _Emily sipped it then stirred it with her straw, ran her finger around the sugared rim and licked it. Penelope had the distinct feeling she wouldn't have given away even this tiny scrap of information if they weren't all already several cocktails into the evening. "Okay," Emily said eventually, looking up at JJ and Penelope and smiling a little at their eager faces. "He was Irish."_

 _"_ _Oooh," Penelope breathed, and JJ nodded knowingly._

 _"_ _His voice was… Well, at least as gorgeous as you're imagining. And he was like,_ just _the right amount of scruffy, you know? The kind of stubble you just want to keep touching."_

 _JJ nodded. "Mm hmm."_

 _Emily smiled, looked between them both and dropped her gaze back to her glass, took another sip of cocktail. "He was um – I don't know. Protective, and a little possessive I guess, more than I'd like, but he didn't mind that I fought him on it. And he never treated me like I was fragile, you know? He made me feel -" She stopped abruptly, shook her head and shuffled in her seat._

 _"_ _Feel what?" Penelope said softly, realising they'd hit a nerve now and feeling a little bad. Emily revealed so little of herself – it was weird to see her sad about something personal._

 _Emily took a deep breath and released it slowly, a slow, sad smile spreading on her face. "Alive. Every moment with him, I felt – I mean, not invincible, definitely not – but life just felt so…"_

 _She shook her head again, as if shaking something off. "Okay," she said decisively. "Enough. That's all the detail you're getting. Like I said, it didn't end well. It was… Complicated."_

Penelope sits in her office, her photo album open on her lap and tears streaming down her face. Nobody is out on a case right now and she's got some housekeeping stuff running on her machines in the background, so she's given herself permission to take some time out to miss Emily. It's just still so hard to believe she's really gone... She looks down at their smiling faces, herself and JJ and Emily, wiping her tears away before they can drop onto the photos. That girls' night sticks out in her memory as the first time she ever found out anything really personal about Emily – for any reason other than her mother showing up in the BAU, anyway. She'd felt so much closer to her since then…

 _"_ _He was Irish…"_

"Oh my god," Penelope breathes. "Oh my god, oh my god."

She stands up, wants to go out to the bullpen and grab JJ but she knows if she shows her tear-streaked face out there she'll have to talk to other people. So she sits back down and sends a text to JJ – 'I have something to tell you – get in here!'

JJ knocks the door and Penelope opens it, grabs her wrist and pulls her inside. "It was Doyle!" she hisses as she closes the door behind JJ. "She meant him!"

"I – what?" JJ says, leaning back against the desk and staring at Penelope. "Are you okay? _What_ was Doyle?"

"The Irish guy who made Emily feel -" She suppresses a sob, takes her glasses off and buries her face in her hands. "Alive," she chokes. "Remember? That girls' night where we made her talk about a good relationship?"

"Ohh," JJ says softly. "Yeah, I remember."

Penelope feels JJ's hands on her shoulders, then they wrap around her back and pull her in close – she hugs JJ back, hard, crying all over her shirt but nowhere near in control enough to care. It is so _unfair_ , and so _sad_ , and… "She couldn't think of a single relationship better than him," she says through tears. "She really loved him. And he _killed her_."

JJ rubs her back, sighing deeply. "Complicated was an understatement, huh?"

Penelope nods. When she pulls herself together enough, she sits down on her chair, looking up at JJ who's staring back sadly. "You know," JJ says, "Emily would've sworn an oath not to talk about Ian Doyle ever again. That part of her past was supposed to disappear when she left Interpol." Penelope nods, not quite following. "She shouldn't have told us even as much as she did, but it must've been so isolating." She pauses, on the verge of tears, and Penelope scoots forward on her chair and takes her hand. "Feeling close to us was important enough to her to break that promise. That's the stuff I want us to remember about her." She looks at Penelope with something like determination in her eyes, and Penelope nods again.

"I miss her, Jayje," she murmurs, and JJ pulls her to her feet, wraps her arms around her again.

"I know. I do too."


	12. Chapter 12: Bomb

"Prentiss, what's your status? Prentiss – do you copy?"

She tears the earpiece out because she can hear the edge of panic in his voice, can only imagine how he'd sound if she knew the stupid decision she's about to make, and she wants to explain herself, to apologise, to tell him she loves him, and there is no time to think like that – this right here is why they can't be together and on the same team.

Will's breath is quick and terrified on her face, and as she cuts the yellow wire, the sound of relief he makes is visceral. She sits back, thinks she might actually pass out – she breathes hard, steadying herself. After a few moments, she picks up her earpiece and puts it back in, reaches for Will's arm and squeezes reassuringly. "Hotch?"

"Prentiss, we're on our way." He sounds rattled and breathless. "Talk to me – what's happening?"

"It's okay," she tells him. "It's okay, the bomb is disarmed."

"The bomb squad made it?"

"No," she says, and can't say any more – she takes the earpiece back out, tears in her eyes.

"Was that Hotch?" Will asks, his chest still rising and falling too quickly, his body starting to tremble.

"Try to relax," she tells him. "You might be going into shock."

"Relax, yeah, I'll get on that," he drawls, glancing down at the apparatus strapped to him, and she laughs, looks around for ways she can cut him loose. She can't – they need something to cut the chains. They need to wait for the bomb squad.

"Yeah," she says, sitting back and keeping her eyes on his, giving him somewhere to focus. "That was Hotch. Try to take deep breaths – I know it's not easy, but it'll help."

"You love him?"

"I – what?"

He shakes his head. "Just a question."

"Yes," she says, before she can stop herself. "Yeah. I do."

Will's eyebrows raise in surprise, and she laughs a little self-consciously. "You going to do anything about it?"

Before she can answer, she hears them running behind her, feels relief flood her body when she sees him, although his face is set, eyebrows low and jaw clenched. He takes one look at them, at the timer on Will's chest and the wire cutter at her feet. "Prentiss, come with me."

She stands without question and he strides off around a corner – she makes sure Morgan is sitting down and talking to Will before she follows. He turns on her, arms folded across his chest, looks behind her to make sure nobody else can see them. "Tell me you didn't cut a random wire on that bomb with one second left on the timer," he says tightly.

There's a pause where they both just look at each other, and she wishes she could tell him something to make him feel better. She shakes her head. "It wasn't random. The colours were from the flag of -"

"You've never worked in bomb disposal." His voice is restricted, like he's holding himself back, and she knows he must want to yell at her. "You should have gotten yourself out."

"I couldn't leave him to die, Hotch. Would you?"

He shakes his head and looks away, and finally the mask cracks – he looks relieved and terrified, and she takes a step toward him, takes his face in her hands and turns him to look at her. His hands find her waist, settle over the Kevlar, and she pulls him to her and his eyes close at the last second – his lips are warm and soft against hers, and she wants to keep kissing him forever, but she pulls back after a couple of seconds. "We need to get back to Will," she says gently, and he nods, his expression soft but serious. "Have dinner with me tonight? Please? I've had a job offer I should discuss with you."

"Dinner," he agrees, and she smiles. He leans in, kisses her again quickly, and follows her back to Will and Morgan and the bomb squad.


	13. Chapter 13: Dinner

_Note: a sequel to the previous chapter, Bomb._

He waits until their meals arrive before asking about the job offer, allowing himself a glimmer of hope. They've been playing around the edge of something since she came back – and he's loved her since before she left, if he's honest with himself – but after they kissed the first time, reckless and desperate in her room in a roadside motel, they agreed they had to stop. Fraternisation policies, professionalism, careers they'd just barely saved in that senate meeting…

She swirls her wine glass with one hand, toys with her fork with the other. After a couple of seconds' hesitation, she puts the fork down and looks straight at him.

"Clyde asked me to go back to Interpol," she says. "Run the London gateway office."

He feels his heart drop into his stomach, his racing mind coming to an abrupt stop. "Emily," he says, finding his professional voice. "That's -"

She shakes her head, reaches across the table and slides her hand over his. "I'm not going to London, Aaron," she says softly, and the breath he didn't know he was holding breaks from him, his sigh of relief putting this gentle, hopeful smile on her face. "I got another offer," she says. "Linguistic specialist, in counterterrorism. Primarily Quantico but with some travel, and maybe the chance to do some teaching… They're interested in a linguist with a profiling background, and now that my CIA file is unsealed I guess I look pretty good for counterterrorism…"

"Yes," he breathes, before he can stop himself, and she laughs. "Emily, are you sure?"

She can't suppress a smile as she squeezes his hand. "The offer is there – the job's mine if I want it."

"And do you?" he says, thinking of the white collar crime desk job he nearly took for Haley's sake. It would've been a disaster, and it would've ruined them just as surely as staying in the BAU. He won't let Emily do that.

"Yes," she replies, and there's no hesitation about it, no uncertainty. "I'm so glad to be home and I love the BAU, you know that… But it doesn't feel right, trying to fit back into my old life. It's been niggling at me – I've been trying to make everything the same, but it can't be." She hesitates, flips his hand and traces her thumb along the lines of his palm, staring intently down at it. He watches her, feels warmth spread from his hand to his spine and wants nothing more than to get his hands on her, take her home and hold onto her forever. She looks up at him through her eyelashes, doesn't look surprised to find him staring. "And us, too," she says, her voice so soft. "I don't want us to go back to before."

She texts the counterterrorism unit chief to arrange a meeting, and gets a text back within minutes confirming they can meet the following day. They eat quickly, leave their plates half full and tip generously, and he drives back to her apartment right on the speed limit. As soon as they're inside, his hands are on her waist again, except this time there's no bulletproof vest, just the soft, warm curve of her arching into him as their mouths meet, his arms snaking around her back as she backs into the door, holding him close and kissing him hard. He pulls back, the darkness in her eyes just about slaying him, takes her hand and she leads him to her bedroom.

She hesitates before uncovering the clover scar, and a fierce, protective affection rushes through him. He kisses along her collarbone, dips down and kisses right by the brand, and she holds his head there a few seconds while she composes herself. When she unbuttons his shirt and sees Foyet's scars, she looks him right in the eye and she must see the fear there – she takes his face in her hands again, like she did in the station, and whispers that she loves him.

He wakes in the morning with her head on his chest, her body curled into him and can't believe they're finally here.


	14. Chapter 14: Announcement

_Note: More Jemily!_

When Emily knocks JJ's door, her mind is reeling. JJ texted her almost as soon as she left work that day, asking her to come over, and while she can think of a few reasons JJ wouldn't have just asked her at work like normal, none of them are very convincing. And very few of them involve good news. The door swings open and JJ stops chewing her lip to try a smile. "Hey," she says, tugging the hem of her sweater down. Emily desperately wants to reach out and just hug her but it doesn't feel like the moment. "Come in."

Emily does, takes JJ's hand and kisses her cheek – JJ leans a little into the contact, but doesn't initiate anything else. "You okay?" Emily says softly, ghosting a hand down JJ's back as they head for the kitchen.

"Yeah," JJ says. "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm good. I just -"

She turns abruptly, backs herself up against the counter and meets Emily's eyes. "Emily, I'm pregnant."

Emily can feel the smile lighting up her face, and as the questions race into her mind she pushes them all straight back out. She holds her arms out and JJ steps into her and hugs her hard, the relief palpable in her body as Emily holds her. "Oh my god, JJ," she laughs, ridiculous happiness bubbling out of her. JJ is going to be such a good mom. "Congratulations!"

JJ holds on tight, her fingers digging into Emily's back and her face buried in her shoulder. "I know we haven't been – you know – _official_ for long, and I know this is huge and we haven't really talked about kids, and Em, it's okay if -"

"Honey, no," Emily whispers. She unwraps JJ's arms from around her, takes her hands and squeezes. "If you want to keep taking things slow, that's what we'll do. But I'm here. Whatever you need."

JJ smiles, and lets out a little relieved laugh, looking down at their hands. "I love you."

"I love you too," Emily replies softly – the words are still new for them, but the uncertainty they felt the first time has melted away, and now there's this quiet wonder to getting to say it out loud. She hesitates, wanting to hold onto this moment as long as she can, but JJ has caught the change in expression and she's looking at her expectantly. "Does Will know? I mean – I assume -"

"Yeah, it's his," JJ says. "And he knows." The finality in her tone tells Emily all she needs to know, but she carries on anyway. "He wants – you know – pictures and updates and to visit sometimes and stuff. It doesn't change anything."

Emily nods, and for a moment she doesn't know whether she should say _I'm sorry_ , but her expression is softening into this quiet, shy smile. "You want to come to my next appointment?"

Emily reaches for her again, slides one hand up under her sweater and settles the other on her waist. "Yeah," she whispers.

That night, Emily holds JJ close as she falls asleep, her hand settled protectively against JJ's firm stomach even after JJ's hand falls away and her breathing evens out.


	15. Chapter 15: Blood

Emily watches from the window as Haley and Jack are driven away, and walks with Morgan and JJ to the hospital café. JJ goes up to order – Emily closes her eyes and runs a hand through her hair takes a few minutes to silence the part of her that's devastated by the loss. She takes deep, slow breaths, not caring that even with her eyes closed she can feel Morgan watching her. "Hey," he says eventually, and she opens her eyes to look at him. "You were right, you know. We'll fight him. We'll bring them back."

"Do you ever just have a really bad feeling about something?" she says, her throat aching with the effort it takes to keep her voice steady.

Morgan studies her for a moment, then nods. "Yeah, I do. You've just got to remember that's worth fighting too."

JJ comes back with their coffees, slides one cardboard cup to Emily and one to Morgan and sits down. For a minute, they busy themselves with the comforting auto-pilot of making their generic machine coffee palatable – passing sugar sachets around, stirring foam and blowing steam – and then Emily is still again, and can't get the image of Hotch's bloodstained carpet out of her head. "Hey, Morgan? Can you help me with something?"

"Of course."

"I don't know when he'll get out of here, but I don't want him to go home to his blood on his carpet and a bullet hole in his wall, and -"

"I'll do it," Morgan says, and actually shifts his chair back a bit as if he's going to do it right this minute.

"It doesn't need to be right away," she says quickly. "I think he'll be here a while. And if you tell me what you need, I'll pay, I just -"

"I'll take care of it," Morgan repeats.

She knows it's silly, nothing compared to the loss of Jack and Haley, but it eases some of the suffocating tightness she feels in her chest just to know she doesn't need to take him home to that. "Thank you," she says, trying to fit everything she feels into those two words, and then she says goodbye to them and goes back upstairs to Hotch.

Rossi is sitting by the bed. They're both silent – Hotch is staring at the ceiling, his eyes shining, and Rossi stashes something gold in his pocket as she comes in. She hugs him, thanks him for staying, and he holds her so tight she can't help but wonder if he has the bad feeling too.

When Rossi leaves, Emily sits down by the bed. She knows he lied before, about not remembering anything after the first time Foyet stabbed him. Even if she didn't know how memories work in people who've experienced trauma, his expression had made no attempt to conceal the lie – just pleaded with her not to push the issue. She sighs, reaches for his hand, and she finds she's surprised when he takes it and squeezes, his head turning to look at her. She supposes she thought he'd distance himself from her, wonders if he'll try when the painkillers wear off. "He knows about you," he says in this broken voice, struggling to keep it even, and she shakes her head, pulls her chair in closer so she can lean on the side of the bed then slides her hand up his arm, traces lines with her fingertips.

"I'm not going anywhere," she says, her voice soft but resolute. He closes his eyes, and she squeezes his hand. "I love you and I'm sorry this happened, and I'm staying no matter what."

"I love you too," he replies, without opening his eyes, and she lays her head down on his bed and she's there every time he wakes up.

When he's released from hospital, she drives him to his apartment. She drops his bag by the door, throws the keys onto the table, and his hands find her waist as she's pouring them a drink, pulling her backwards into him. "Thank you," he says.

When she turns, he's looking at where the bullet hole should be in the wall. It looks fine now, perfectly covered, and the carpet is brand new. And there's a framed photograph on the counter of the team that definitely wasn't there before. "It was Morgan," she says, watching him looking at it all, and then he's holding her so tight against his chest that she can barely breathe.


	16. Chapter 16: Raw

_Morcia times!_

After Emily's death, she goes home with him. When she gets in his car, he turns to look at her and his jaw is so clenched and his eyebrows so low she honestly thinks for a moment he's going to tell her to get out, but the moment passes and he starts the car without a word. His teeth are gritted, a muscle jumping in his temple, and she cries silently the entire way to his apartment, wiping her tears on her sleeves. Emily is gone. They were too late and she's gone and she died in pain and afraid and they will never see her again. It sends her mind spinning back to when she found out her parents died – this has the exact same feeling of being not quite real and at the same time the most crushingly certain thing in the world.

He guides her into his place with a hand in the middle of her back – she can feel it shaking through three layers. They get inside, and she turns toward him, sobbing into his chest, and he wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head and holds her tight. He feels solid and determined – he doesn't cry.

"I'm going to make you some tea," he tells her quietly. "Will you be okay in here while I do that?"

She nods, and he turns and goes into the kitchen without another word. She kicks off her shoes, hangs up her jacket and sits on the sofa, fidgeting with his cushions and trying not to replay the CCTV footage of Emily falling into Doyle's trap in her mind. Instead, she wonders whether Emily got her voicemail, whether there was anything more she could have said, some magic phrase that would have stopped her from going after him…

Derek comes back with tea, sits down beside her on the sofa and puts his arm around her as she blows into the mug. He sighs deeply, but she can still feel the tension in his body. "Talk to me," she says softly, without looking at him. She thinks of her angry, confused teenage self and leans back into him a little. "Whatever you're feeling, it's okay to feel it, but pretending you don't feel it is going to tear you apart."

He's silent for a long time, and she sips her tea, imagining Emily's death every time she blinks. Eventually, he sighs again. "I'm angry with her, Penelope. I told her I knew why she did what she did, but the truth is I'm still angry with her."

"For what she did with Doyle? For the relationship she had with him? Or for not telling us? Because Derek, I wish she had, but she _couldn't_ , you know how it is with undercover stuff. You can't tell anyone, ever."

He shakes his head, his hand clenching and unclenching. "For everything. For standing there with information on the suspect we were hunting and telling us nothing. For running instead of coming to us. If she had just trusted us -"

"She loved us," she says, her voice getting away from her at the end and tears welling up and spilling over, her throat and chest aching as if she might actually fall apart. He pulls her toward him, and when he can't hold her tight enough he shifts them so she's nestled against his chest, her legs swung over his. She presses her face into his chest, holding on tight to his shirt, and he kisses the top of her head again. "You did everything you could, you know," she says, her voice muffled. She feels him tense, and she looks up, slides her hand around the back of his neck and watches the pain dawn in his eyes.

He pulls her into him again, and one hand threading into her hair, and this time she can feel his tears falling.


	17. Chapter 17: Deal

_Note: Jemily again. Many, many thanks to_ _pagetbrewstar_ _on tumblr for posting the idea for this and then letting me publish it after I was like um hey hello yes I stole your idea._

They've been talking about it for over a year in the abstract when it starts to become real. They ask Henry how he'd feel about a brother or sister, and his face breaks into this beaming smile. He straddles JJ's lap and touches her stomach. "In here?" he asks, then his head tilts. "Or Emily?"

They've talked about that too: Emily this time, they think, because realistically she's got a little less time. Then JJ next time. Two more. They plan everything else first: converting the spare bedroom this time, the study next time. How they'll split their leave. Names, godparents… That brings them to the logistics – the donor. They talk late at night, curled around each other in bed, and when Emily suggests Morgan, JJ's quiet for a moment, hugging her tighter. "That's perfect," she whispers.

Then she laughs, this quiet snigger, and Emily grins. "He's going to be so pleased with himself."

When the time comes to actually ask him, though, the idea has settled and they're nervous. They've tried not to talk about what to do if he says no, but it hovers between them in quiet moments – nobody else feels as right for this as he does. Garcia and Reid take Henry out to a superhero movie, all of them in costume, and Morgan arrives at six on the dot.

"I'm getting the special treatment tonight," he says, playful as he puts down the wine he brought and looks over the table setting. Somehow doing this over their regular pizza didn't seem quite right – JJ has been buzzing around the stove half the day, Emily sorting and tidying and trying not to think about the word _nesting_. They both laugh a little nervously, and he gives them this look like they must be up to something, but he doesn't ask.

Finally, over the last of dessert, after they set out their plan of attack with glances and tiny nods, Emily takes the plunge. "Well," she says, touching his arm lightly. "No fancy home cooked meal is free, right? We uh – we actually wanted to ask you a favour."

She expects him to make a joke, expects to have to rein him in before he makes the whole thing feel ridiculous, but he just nods, his face serious. "Of course. Anything I can do."

"Don't promise that just yet," JJ warns with a worried smile, and Emily's feet meet hers under the table, a reassuring stroke of her ankle. She shoots Emily a quiet smile, then takes a breath. "We want to have more kids. And um. We wondered…"

She trails off, the words lost somewhere in her doubt, and he looks between them, obviously lost. "That's great," he says, encouraging. "I mean, if you need help with the house or babysitting, you know I'm always right here."

"We were thinking earlier in the process than that, actually," Emily says, a little awkwardly, and this time JJ's foot settles over hers. "We need a donor," she explains quietly, and this slow realisation dawns on his face, definitely not unhappy.

"We don't need an answer tonight," JJ says, although a spark of hope is glowing inside her somewhere.

He shakes his head slowly, grinning, his eyes shining. "Of course. Yes. It would be an honour. You've got yourself a deal."

Emily feels this joyous relief flood her, doesn't realise she's stood up until she's wrapped in his arms, JJ's hand on her back, and yeah, those are maybe tears in her eyes. He pulls her back, holds her at arm's length and she looks at him through tears and a stupid grin, feeling ridiculous. "Nothing's too good for my uterus, right?"

He drives them to every appointment. He finds out it's a boy and goes out and enlists Penelope's help to throw a baby shower. He waits outside the delivery room and sprints through the door as soon as a nurse opens it – he's the third person to hold the baby and as soon as Emily's eyes are closed he pulls a hat with QUARTERBACK emblazoned on it out of his pocket. "You are not putting that on my son," JJ says, except she's grinning. So of course he does. And when Emily wakes up, she rolls her eyes but can't wipe the smile off her face.


	18. Chapter 18: Blackout

_Some Dentiss._

He's making a call, and she's waiting in the sitting room, reading a book with Declan and trying not to completely destroy her fingertips – her nails are ragged and while Declan reads aloud to her she's sucking blood from around her thumbnail. The call is to a contact in the US, one of the first solid leads she was able to give Clyde. She has no idea what the progress is on their end, whether they've got his phone tapped, his business watched, whether he'll tip Ian off or whether this will be the thing that brings them in, ends all of this…

Declan taps her leg. "Lauren?"

"Mm?"

"What's this word? For…"

"Forgiveness," she supplies, and he cuddles into her side, tracing the word with his finger a couple of times before carrying on. She squeezes him close, runs a hand through soft curls, closes her eyes for a couple of seconds and she can't let herself think of what will happen to him if they find out about him, what Ian will turn him into if she can't get him out…

Ian's footsteps approach, heavy and quick, and he storms into the room, slowing when she turns to look at him. He's obviously angry, but he looks at her and Declan and something softens in his eyes and her heart misses a beat. For now, she's safe, and she can't say the heat in those eyes does nothing for her. "Everything okay?" she asks, eyebrows raised a fraction, her voice calm and practised.

"He's out," he says, frustration in his voice. "As if he can just walk away. He doesn't know who he's dealing with. It took me years to -"

She shakes her head a little, inclining her head toward Declan, who has stopped reading and is looking between them. "Later," she says softly, and after looking for a moment like he's going to argue, he nods and heads into the kitchen. She ruffles Declan's hair again. She knows it's risky. She knows she's putting more on the line than she was ever supposed to, trying to protect Declan. But if she can't protect him, what's the point? Every time she looks at him she's hit with this overwhelming sense that any good she does now or for the rest of her life would be cancelled out by failing this little boy.

And maybe she knows her conscience, battered and filthy from everything she's done already, everything she will do to Ian, could not recover from losing Declan.

Ian comes back holding three glasses in a triangle, two whiskeys and one apple juice, and puts them down on the coffee table – his eyes flick up to hers and he smiles warmly.

The lights flicker.

Then darkness – complete even with the curtains thrown right open because it's night time and their nearest neighbour is miles away. Declan scrambles into her lap and she settles him there as Ian swears and starts checking breakers and hunting for flashlights. "It's okay," she tells Declan, although her heart is thudding in her throat, her stomach clenching uncomfortable. "We're still here. It's just the lights – nothing to be afraid of."

When Ian comes back with flashlights, she shifts Declan onto his lap, takes one and heads for the kitchen. She looks for the flashing lights across the fields that will tell her whether this is just a blackout, or whether it's a sign from the outside telling her that they're coming for her soon. Heart in her throat, she combs the darkness for a flicker, doesn't look away until Ian calls her name.

After a couple of minutes, there are no lights across the fields. It's just a blackout. They're okay, she's okay, and she will not acknowledge the relief that floods her body at the realisation this is not over yet.

She digs ice cream out of the freezer, tells them they don't know how long the electricity will be off after all so they'd better eat up before it melts. She sits on the sofa with her legs thrown over Ian's, her feet burrowed under Declan's legs in flannel pyjamas, and they share the ice cream from the carton and she loves them both so much it hurts.


	19. Chapter 19: Regret

_Jemily again. TW: Miscarriage._

When Emily accepts a transfer to DC, she's surprised by how natural it all feels. She gets an apartment, moves her stuff in, and her view of the city is a different angle than before but it's all there, and _she's_ there, for real this time. Finally, she feels at peace here, and it almost hurts to realise this was all she wanted before. Almost all she wanted.

She calls JJ and invites her over, and hears her hesitation. "I'm not having a good day," she says eventually.

"You can come over even if you're not having a good day," Emily replies. "Especially if you're not. Will has Henry tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Come over."

JJ agrees, and Emily breathes a sigh of relief and unpacks the box of tea she brought home. JJ has been like this, some variation of _haunted_ since Askari, maybe before. Some days she's okay. Some days she's happy. But there's always this darkness that wasn't there before. It took months of phone calls pretending nothing had changed before JJ would even say the phrase _I'm not having a good day_. And recently she's said it more and more often.

When Emily opens the door, JJ steps right into her, and Emily wraps her in a hug. "I missed you," she says softly, and it's such an understatement it hurts to say it. They Skyped, they had a couple of visits, JJ met Emily at the airport when she moved home, but this is different.

"I missed you too," JJ mumbles, her words muffled by Emily's shoulder.

Emily makes tea, and while it's brewing she gives JJ the tour of the apartment. JJ's fingers hook around hers when she shows her the bedroom, and she tries to swallow the feelings that come surging up inside her. This was over a long time ago, before Henry… The second bedroom is still empty – the desk and chair and bookcases from her study in London are in a corner of the living room now, because now she's home there are people she might actually have people stay over. She holds JJ's hand tight and they don't really look at each other until they collect their tea and sit down at the table

"Okay," Emily says quietly, turning the tiniest fraction toward JJ. As their knees touch under the table, she can feel the warmth of JJ through two layers, and tries to shut up the part of her brain that still remembers no layers all too well. "Tell me what you think about, when it's not a good day."

"You already know," JJ says, eyebrows pulling together a little. She pushes her hair back from her face, looks up to meet Emily's eyes. "I told you about Afghanistan and Askari and Hastings, and Will…"

Emily nods. "That's not everything, is it? I could tell. I was far away and you never knew when we'd see each other, and you kept some distance."

"Emily…" JJ says guiltily.

"It's okay. You protected yourself, I get that. But I'm home now and I'm not going anywhere."

JJ takes a breath and holds Emily's gaze so long it's like she's looking for something. "I was pregnant," she says, breaking eye contact and staring down at her hands. "When you went to Paris."

 _Oh._ It starts to click into place, the guilt she could never figure out the root of. Chewing the corner of her lip, Emily takes JJ's hand. "I'm sorry," she says softly.

When JJ looks up there's a kind of wild anger in her expression – when she speaks, her voice trembles with it, and Emily realises it's this she's been hiding – not the baby but the anger. "I was pregnant and I didn't tell Will because I knew he wouldn't want me back in the field and I knew he was right. I stayed in the BAU when it was Henry but this job was different, it was crossing a line and I knew it." Emily starts to speak, but JJ pulls her hand away and it disappears under the table, grabs a handful of her sweater, presses her fist into her abdomen and says tightly, "I thought I could never live with myself if I didn't find Nadia's killer. But how the hell am I supposed to live with _this_?"

Emily has seen a lot of sides of JJ, but never this. It's heartbreaking, and honestly a little unnerving, and she runs over and over in her head everything she could say in this moment, and knows nothing is the right thing. Eventually, she just reaches for the hand JJ's driving into her own abdomen and pulls it away, wrapping it up in both of hers on the table top. "I'm sorry," she says again. "You did the best you could in an impossible situation – you did what you thought was right. You always do, JJ."

"I was wrong," JJ says flatly, although her hand relaxes enough to hold Emily's. Emily's not sure how to feel about it – it feels like the fight is draining out of her. She wonders how often JJ goes through this cycle. "I never told Will," she adds, almost as an afterthought. "I couldn't."

She finally looks back up, her eyes swimming with tears, and Emily blinks her away. "You deserve to be happy," she says, when she can trust herself to talk.

"I'm glad you came home."


	20. Chapter 20: After

_Author's note: Post-Mayhem. Also, the last chapter was unusually typo-heavy - I usually catch most of them before I publish so I'm not sure what happened there, sorry!_

He goes into the OR to find out whether Kate made it, and she waits outside, knowing what the answer will be and feeling completely helpless. She told the others to go on ahead, knew both that he wouldn't want a scene and that she couldn't walk away from him today if her life depended on it. She tries not to read too much into that – they've come a long way, could even be described as _friends_ , since she picked him up and insisted he come out with the team the night he signed his divorce papers. It's only natural that she feels protective.

And that's as much as she'll let herself think about today.

He comes out looking at the floor, his entire body heavy with grief, and before she's had a moment to question exactly when her emotions became so tied to his, there's a lump in her throat and her eyes are stinging. And it's maybe more because of that – so they don't have to see each other's damp eyes – that she takes a step toward him and wraps her arms around him. To her surprise, he hugs her back hard, like he's afraid she might disappear, and the strength of it makes something ache inside her. "I'm so sorry," she says, and means it more than she could ever have imagined.

"Thank you." He takes a shaking breath. When he steps back, he's regained some composure but he's nothing like as closed off as she thinks he'd like to be. There's so much pain in his face it feels invasive to look him in the eyes, so she doesn't. As they walk side by side down the hospital corridor, much slower than their normal pace, he says, "Kate and I never – we were never…"

"Hotch…" Emily begins, her stomach twisting with guilt at having ever teased him about Kate. "You don't have to -"

"We flirted," he says quietly. "A lot. But never anything more."

She doesn't know what to say to that, so for a few moments she says nothing. "I know you really cared about her," she says eventually. "And you did everything you could for her. You gave her the best chance."

She glances at him sideways and he nods, his lips pressed tightly together. Just as they reach the last turn before the door, where she knows the team will be waiting for them, he slows to a stop. "Prentiss."

"Yeah?"

He hesitates. "Do you know how many people are left in my life who call me Aaron?"

With a rush of fierce affection for him, she shakes her head. It sounds weird to her in the way that the given names of nicknamed people always do, but she thinks she's never seen him more _Aaron_ than he is right now.

"Not many," he supplies. With an attempt at a smile, he adds, "And I don't know if Dave even counts."

"I think he should count for two," she says. "Stubbornly sticking to Aaron when the entire building calls you Hotch."

A fleeting smile passes over his face, gone as quickly as it came, and she raises her eyebrows a fraction. He's already turned away when he answers. "It sounded good when you said it."

He starts walking again, and just as they reach the door, she says, "Hey. _Aaron_." He turns and smiles a little, and she smiles back, hoping selfishly he's not at the top of his game right now and can't feel the self-consciousness radiating from her. "Need company on the drive home?"


	21. Chapter 21: Photograph

She turns down Clyde's offer to go to London. Something has to change, she knows that, and finally – maybe because she nearly blew up, maybe because Clyde forced her hand – she's letting herself see what she wants. She makes an offer on the house. There are cracks, but that's what happens when you want a beautiful old house with character and a history. If she wanted perfection, she'd be buying a cookie cutter luxury apartment in the block she's renting in now. She's never felt like she belonged there.

Then she looks up adoption agencies, and starts writing her profile.

She's been writing and rewriting so long that by the time her doorbell rings, the room has darkened around her and her eyes are watering. She closes her laptop, clicks on all the lamps on the way to the door, and looks through the peephole. She opens the door to Morgan, JJ, Reid and Garcia, steps back and lets them in, this feeling lighting her up from the inside. "Am I missing something?" she asks, looking them up and down.

"A little birdie told us you got a job offer," Morgan says, producing a bottle of champagne from inside his coat.

"And then it told us you turned it down," JJ adds.

Turning to Garcia, Emily begins, "How did you even -?"

Garcia waves her hands vaguely, takes her by the shoulders then hugs her hard.

"You're staying?" Reid asks, his face quietly hopeful, and Emily nods. He frowns at her, looking closer. "Have you been crying?"

Garcia shoves her back and holds her by the shoulders again. "Your eyes are red," she confirms. "Why are your eyes red?"

"I'm okay," Emily says. "Honestly, I'm fine, I've just been working on something and I guess I stared at the screen too long…"

"Hotch is closing the case," Reid says. "We've got time off. What are you working on?"

Emily laughs, tries to wave them off, even takes the champagne from Morgan and heads for the kitchen, but they all follow her and look at her expectantly and she huffs out a breath, putting the bottle down on the counter. "It's like you guys are the FBI or something," she mumbles. "Fine. Okay. I'm going to try to adopt," she says, noticing too late she sounds like she's admitting to something. "I've been writing my profile for the adoption agency…"

Their reactions are everything she expected. Reid's face stretches into that goofy smile; Garcia's eyes fill with happy tears; JJ gives her this knowing smile that says _I can see it_ , and Morgan pulls her into a hug and tells her softly, right in her ear, that it's a great idea. She finds herself repeating 'nothing's certain' and 'haven't even been accepted yet', but their happiness in infectious and it's kind of terrifying. All at once, as Reid's arms wrap all the way around her and JJ's hand settles on her back, she lets herself realise that if this doesn't work out it will crush her. She tells herself that's not weakness – it's the kind of investment these kids deserve.

When everyone is done passing her around and hugging her, she turns to the counter, swipes under her eyes with her sleeve, and starts pouring Morgan's champagne. "Hey," Morgan says from behind her. "What can we do? Is there anything you need help with?"

"I actually still need a photo," she says. "There aren't many pictures of me… You know -" she shoots a smile at Garcia "- not counting selfies in feather boas and novelty sunglasses."

"You know, natural light is known to make people feel more positive," Reid says. "We should take a picture of you tomorrow in natural daylight. Also, studies show that the subjects of photos featuring the left side of the face are perceived as more pleasant and likeable than those showing the right side of the face, and that if you crinkle your eyes a little…" He catches Morgan's eye and adds, "We could help you."

Emily laughs, passing him a glass of champagne. "I appreciate that."

The next day Hotch, Jack, Rossi, Will and Henry join them for a picnic in the park, and they take enough pictures of her looking like a happy, relaxed, well balanced individual that she actually has trouble choosing one. But she does. And when she submits her application, she even has a good feeling about it.


	22. Chapter 22: Patient

**Note: This is a sequel to** _ **Photograph.**_

Her past is too shady. Her job is too demanding. Her mental health is not as squeaky clean as it once was. Neither is her physical health. She tells herself there are plenty of reasons she should not expect to be accepted by this adoption agency. She lists them in therapy, and comes out with an increased awareness that okay, maybe she is a bit of a control freak. She's chosen a program that places older kids from the foster care system – she thought about a baby, of course, but she's seen so many kids with lives in turmoil, and she hates how often she's had to look away. She's finally, hopefully, in a position to do something. Out on cases, she keeps her head in the game, but in the office she checks her phone more than usual and her mind wanders so often Reid has started sending her emails that just say 'EMILY' when she doesn't look like she's concentrating.

She hates that this isn't something she can push. She can't become a mom by showing up in an office and refusing to leave until she's been given a chance.

That terrifies her.

She thinks of herself as a pretty patient person, but she starts to wonder whether she's patient enough for this.

Then there's a phone call and a meeting, and another meeting, and classes and group sessions for prospective parents, and then she meets the girl who will become her daughter. She's read her file – it told her biographical basics, why she's in foster care, how many places she's lived, how she does in school… None of it was enough to prepare her for her for the bright, nervous seven year old who greets her at the door of the foster home, offering her hand for Emily to shake. "I'm Torey," she says, and scrunches her nose. "Not Victoria."

The social worker and adoption counsellor have both warned Emily that Torey hasn't been told she's a prospective parent, so she shouldn't say anything today that gives it away. So she doesn't, although she can tell straight away that Torey knows. She's polite and nervous and she looks up at Emily with a kind of guarded hope. After a tour of the house, they sit down at the table with crayons and paper, and Emily's heart starts fluttering with nervous energy. Torey smiles up at her shyly, handing her a purple crayon. "You can have this one. It's my favourite colour." Emily thanks her, and hands her a red crayon. Torey doesn't ask if it's her favourite – she seems to take it as given. Instead, she asks, "What's your favourite animal?"

Emily writes her name at the top of her paper in purple, a little terrified by how much she already loves this girl. "Cats," she replies, smiling. "What's yours?"

"Mine's cats too. I want to have a cat one day," Torey says, painstakingly writing her name on her paper too in big, careful letters. "My friend Lewis has a cat and she's so soft, and she sits on my lap and she likes when I pet her all the way down her back." She pauses thoughtfully. "You're not sposed to pull their tails," she adds.

"No," Emily agrees. "They don't like that. I have a cat," she adds, keeping her voice neutral, trying not to react when Torey looks up at her with delight, although her heart does a little leap. "His name is Sergio. You want to see a picture?"

Torey nods vigorously, and Emily gets her phone out of her pocket, finds the picture she took of Sergio basking in the sun on her kitchen table yesterday and slides it across the table. Torey's legs kick excitedly under the table. "He's cute," she says, her voice shy again. "I bet he's soft."

Over a couple of months, they see each other more and more. Emily decorates Torey's room, purple with a cartoon cat border. With her adoption counsellor's guidance, and the help of the team (and Garcia's craft supply box), Emily makes Torey a scrapbook. She includes pictures of herself, Sergio, all the rooms in her apartment, the school she'll go to, the team and Jack and Henry… Garcia slides a picture of Ambassador Prentiss across the table, and she hesitates then finds a place for it. "You never know, right?" she murmurs, as she glues it in.

"I heard you were reaching out to her," Hotch says, with a half smile, sipping wine across the table from her.

"Yeah, rumours fly," Emily replies, and although everything feels fragile and scary, there's this uncomplicated lightness inside her she can't remember ever feeling before. This just feels right, all of it. "Thank you," she tells him quietly, and for a moment it's like there's nobody else in the room. "For whatever you wrote in the character reference."

"You didn't read it?" he asks. She shakes her head. "Well, you're welcome. And I'm proud of you."

Right before Torey moves in full time, Emily hears whispers the director is looking to downsize the team, and when she's offered a teaching position in the Academy, she hardly has to give it a second thought. Hotch carves her out a consultancy position for the BAU that fits around her teaching and keeps her out of the field, and it's perfect. It takes the pressure off, lets the rest of the team stay together, and it's more consistency for her and her daughter. They both need it. Some days, Torey presses all her buttons, looking for her limits. Some nights she wakes up crying, and Emily lifts Sergio onto her bed, hugs her or tickles her back while she strokes him until she falls asleep. The adoption counsellor tells her every week how much patience it will take, but she's not sure whether that's the word. Torey doesn't demand patience so much as empathy and quick forgiveness.

After a couple of weeks, JJ and Garcia invite them both out for a girls' day, and Torey sips sparkling lemonade as she has her feet massaged, her face lit up in a beaming smile. "You look so happy," JJ says softly, and it takes Emily a couple of seconds to realise she's talking to her.


	23. Chapter 23: Delicate

She was always good undercover. She has no illusions – she knows it's a skill she learned from being dragged around the world against her will, shoved into school after school, always the new girl, never knowing until she got there what part she'd have to play to be accepted this time around. She learned fast how to tell what people wanted from her, and how to give it to them. College was the longest she'd stayed in one place for as long as she could remember, but even there she found herself sliding almost effortlessly from one disguise to another. When she wasn't working, she'd go to the library late at night, copy out her notes or just read textbooks, or books in languages she didn't want to lose – she thought she wanted to be alone, but being alone with her thoughts and nothing to occupy her was unbearable. When she was alone, she didn't know who to be.

So she was good at it. When she started working in law enforcement she had half an idea of the direction she'd go – profiling was what fascinated her, reading people was what she was great at, and _being_ people was a skill she knew she could sell.

Becoming and believing, then picking up and walking away and starting over – she thought it'd be just like it always was.

And it was, for a while. Until Doyle, obviously.

She stands in their ensuite – _his_ , she corrects herself, because this can never be hers – braces herself with her hands on the sink and stares at herself in the mirror. She has never felt in over her head the way she does now. At first, it was hard not to hate Doyle – she'd talk to him late into the night because she needed to get to know him, look down at the table and close her eyes because his voice, at least, was always attractive in a rough, musical way. And now, staring right at the eyes of Lauren Reynolds in the mirror, she knows she is falling in love, and she is not sure she knows what changed.

The fierce way he talks about his business – once the thing she had to work hard to push to the back of her mind so she could summon that flirtatious half smile – now ignites something that feels warm and sinful somewhere inside her. What _Emily_ needs is the details of his work and his past – something she can give to Clyde. But what _Lauren_ needs is so far beneath all of that stuff that she can gloss over it. It's the way his accent gets a little stronger when he talks about where he grew up – never in enough detail, yet, to tip her off that he is Valhalla. The smile in his voice, the edge of cockiness when something is going his way.

She looks at Lauren Reynolds in the mirror and thinks that if her team knew half of what was inside her head right now they'd call the whole thing off and pull her out.

"You nearly ready, love?" he says from the other side of the door, his voice low. "I'm putting the lights out." The housekeeper's son is sleeping in the room down the hall – Ian's consideration for his good night's sleep does not help Emily turn him back into an unforgivable terrorist in her mind.

"Nearly," she tells him, and hears the light switch click off, the sound of his footsteps padding toward the bed.

She shakes her head at herself in the mirror, and having achieved almost nothing in the way of compartmentalisation, she brushes her teeth, opens the door and steps into the darkness of their room. _His room_.

He's propped up on the pillows waiting for her, and she climbs into bed, curls into his side and feels something relax inside her. He presses his lips to the top of her head, pulling her close, and she nuzzles into his chest, her fingers trailing over his collarbone. She thinks maybe it's this that really pulls her apart. How he treats her so delicately not because she might break – he knows her strength, and she knows it's what he loves – but because she gives him the permission he needs to be gentle, even if only in this way, only with her.

It's hard to hate him when she knows he needs that as much as she does.


	24. Chapter 24: Proposal

_Today really felt like it needed some ridiculously fluffy Jemily. *hugs the world*_

* * *

JJ's eyes open slowly. The light streaming through the gap in the curtains is yellow and new, sleepy early morning sun. She rolls onto her side, brushes her hair back out of her face and smiles. Emily is stretched out on her stomach, the blankets thrown off her and her arms under the pillow. Her pyjamas have been discarded in the night, leaving her in just a pair of black underwear, and her back rises and falls slowly with each breath. JJ reaches for her, traces a fingertip over the small rainbow rose tattooed on her spine, then pulls the blanket up over her and closes her eyes again.

The next time she wakes, it's to the sound of a low cry from the next room. She groans, starts to get up, but Emily is already in the doorway, pulling a t-shirt over her head. "I got it," she says. "Stay right there."

The crying stops within a few seconds, but she's awake now. She follows Emily into the boys' room – they don't have to share, but Henry insisted. She knows it won't last, but for now he's still ridiculously smitten with his little brother. She finds Emily standing with Matthew balanced on her hip, running her fingers soothingly through his dark curls, his cheek resting against her chest. Henry sits up on his bed, stretching. JJ sits down beside him, pulls him into a hug, his little arms wrapping tight around her. "Want to help me make breakfast?" she asks. He nods, cuddles her closer for a second then springs up, takes his glasses from the nightstand and puts them on, ready for action.

"Let's go then," JJ says. "Emily? Matthew?"

"We're coming." Emily smiles softly, and JJ thinks she's just as taken in as she is by how stupidly perfect these mornings are. They don't get them often – usually mornings are a rushed affair full of inhaling coffee and trying to get the boys to school and their grandma's early enough to beat rush hour. And usually they don't take the same vacation days. But sometimes the whole team gets a week off, and they get to enjoy the sparkling normality of eating all three meals with their kids.

It's more than she ever let herself imagine her life could be.

* * *

They make pancakes and eat them in front of the TV. After JJ has taken Matthew upstairs and washed all the maple syrup out of his hair, they put their work phones in the kitchen drawer and go to the park. JJ and Emily find a bench by the playground, and Henry takes Matthew's hand and leads him to the sandbox. JJ sighs, slides closer to Emily and leans her head on her shoulder – Emily wraps an arm around her. "You okay?" she murmurs.

"I'm good," JJ replies, watching her boys climb into the sandbox. "Em?"

"Mm?"

"Did you ever think we'd get here?"

Emily squeezes her shoulder and after a few moments of silence, she sighs. "I hoped we would."

JJ sits up straight again, smiling, and takes Emily's hand, soft and familiar. She turns to sneak a look at Emily watching their kids – she loves the way they light her up – but finds Emily looking at her instead, an enigmatic smile on her face. "Hi," JJ says, eyebrows raised.

"Do you ever think about getting married?"

"I – yes," JJ replies simply. "Yeah, I do."

"We should do it," Emily replies, turning away to look at the boys in the sandbox. She smiles as Matthew's laugh rings toward them, a delighted squeal at something Henry said.

JJ turns to watch them too, her heart filling up with a whole new happiness. "Emily Prentiss, will you marry me?"

Emily laughs, shoving JJ's shoulder with her own. "Are you trying to take credit for this proposal?"

"Are you going to stop me?"

"Jeniffer Jareau, will _you_ marry _me_?"

* * *

They accept each other's proposals on the count of three.


	25. Chapter 25: Dream

In her dream, she's home.

Home is DC, and she is Emily Prentiss. She doesn't need to think twice about her name, not because she has rehearsed it so well, but because it is _her name_ , the one her parents gave her. She walks into the building like it's the most natural thing in the world, her coat flung over her arm, balancing two coffees and her security ID. She steps into the elevator, hits the button for her floor with some difficulty, and when the doors slide open, Hotch is there, an easy smile on his face as she extends one coffee toward him and he takes it. They walk side by side to the conference room, their arms just touching, the heat of it somehow too tangible through two shirts and one suit jacket.

Dream logic. _Damn it_. He shouldn't feel so warm. She takes her seat at the round table, trying to cling to the fabric of the dream, but already it's swimming around her. She presses one hand flat on the table, wraps one around her coffee, trying to hold on, but the heat of the coffee has gone, the table feels insubstantial…

She wakes before she sees the rest of the team, opening her eyes to her empty bedroom, her stomach heavy with grief and guilt. It has been too long to still be feeling this way. She sits up, runs a hand through her hair, takes a few deep breaths, counting the seconds in and out…

And then her phone rings.

The one only the agents in charge of her reassignment have the number for, the one she keeps charged but never touches.

She snatches it from her bedside table, pulls the charging chord out and answers, the breath knocked out of her by the possibilities. It could be JJ, it could be Hotch, or Doyle got to them and he –

"Emily?"

"Hotch," she breathes, dropping back onto her bed, dropping her chin to her chest and closing her eyes. She presses the phone closer to her ear, wonders if she imagines the breath he releases. "Oh my god, Hotch."

"I'm sorry to call – you know this isn't a decision I'm taking lightly."

She doesn't know what to say – his voice is quick, low and efficient and either they have Doyle or something is wrong with Declan. _I know_ and _it's okay_ and _tell me what's going on_ and _Hotch I love you I love you I miss you I'm so sorry_ battle for priority in her mind and eventually she just makes an indistinct sound and he goes on.

"We need you, Emily. Declan's missing."

 _No no no_ … "I'm on my way."

"You are not flying commercial," he replies, and she's only half listening because she's stepping out of her pyjama pants, pulling underwear on one handed, pulling her ready bag out from under her bed, shoving her legs into jeans – "There's a jet waiting for you at Le Bourget. Choose one of your passports at random – don't tell me which. Lock your apartment as normal, make sure everything is as it should be, and make your way there as calmly as you can. Let me know when you're in the air."

She knows all of this. In other circumstances she might bristle at him, tell him this isn't her first rodeo, but the gravity of the situation is settling on top of her, taking her breath away, and his voice anchors her to herself as she pulls on boots and a shirt and grabs her bag. After everything she has done for Declan, everything he has been through, they cannot lose him now. "Okay," she breathes. "Okay. I'm coming."

"Be safe," Hotch says softly, and her heart hammers all over again.

"Of course," she replies, locking her door behind her. "See you soon."


	26. Chapter 26: Anxious

_AN: this one's a sequel to_ Dream _._

* * *

When he tells JJ Emily is on her way, he hears the fear in her voice, and he understands completely. It's not just that bringing Emily back to the US is unimaginably risky, even with Doyle in their custody. It's that what they've done is too big and there's no time to explain properly and no time for the team to process. They knew when they made the decision they did that they couldn't undo it, that things would never be the same whether she came home or not, but these weren't the circumstances they expected to explain themselves in.

It is, Emily would tell him, going to suck.

He keeps on top of his anxiety when he tells them, giving nothing away even though he knows this is what makes him unapproachable, because there's too much emotion attached to this to show them any of it.

And there's almost no time to take in the brand new stabs of guilt he feels when he sees their faces, because there she is, standing in the doorway alive and whole and looking just about how he feels – her eyes wide with sadness and her mouth tight with anxiety. She hugs them all like they're fragile, like she might break them, and maybe she could. Maybe they have. She meets his eyes over Reid's shoulder and there's something there he hasn't seen since Matthew died. She's lost, but she's determined.

He doesn't touch her, won't let himself, because he can't take his eyes off her.

She's deadly dark when she interrogates Doyle, betraying nothing but biting impatience, and he's never admired her more. He remembers how it felt running into his house knowing Foyet was there, remembers that even though he was fuelled by nothing but adrenaline, even though he knew Jack was in there and he had to get to him, he was terrified. He can't imagine how it feels to walk into that room with Doyle after spending seven months focused solely on not letting him get near her. But Declan's her Jack.

She comes out of the interrogation room and looks at him, looks around at the otherwise empty room, and her shoulders drop a fraction. "I'm proud of you," he says, and she blows out a breath and wraps her arms tight around herself, hiding her bitten nails. His heart jolts. "Let's get this to the team."

They walk out together, and he grips a file hard with both hands to stop himself from resting one on her back.

She stands up to Strauss, stands up to everyone, keeps her head high and keeps fighting for Declan and he can see that she's afraid and it only makes her more impressive.

After Doyle's shot, Hotch waits in the airport with her and Declan for his guardian. "I'll give you a ride to your hotel," he tells her, and she nods, her eyes unfathomable, her arm protectively around Declan's shoulders. He sits a little away, giving them space, and when her friend arrives for Declan she stands, hugs him hard and still doesn't cry. She kisses Declan's forehead, messes up his hair, and then she walks toward Hotch straight-backed and poker-faced.

He should be thinking about their jobs, about how many rules they broke to get where they are, about how this will not go down well, and probably that's what the anxious knot in his stomach is. But as he walks side by side through the dark parking lot with her, knowing Declan is going home and Emily is here, he just can't bring himself to think they did anything wrong. They're silent until they reach the car, and he pauses as he reaches for the passenger door. "Emily -" he begins, without quite knowing what he's going to say. _I'm glad you're home, I'm sorry about this mess, I'm sorry the team are hurting, I'm sorry we didn't get to you sooner, I'm sorry…_

She shuts up his racing mind by reaching up, tentatively brushing his scruffy cheek with her fingertips before dropping her hand to his shoulder. "No razors in Pakistan?"

He smiles, and before he can talk himself out of it his hands find her waist and pull her toward him, and she fits against him so easily and buries her head in his shoulder. "This doesn't feel real," she mumbles, and he spreads his hands over her back, holding her there. "Thank you," she says, even softer. "For everything you've done."

He closes his eyes, chews his lip, won't let himself say anything because his voice isn't to be trusted. But she nuzzles his shoulder a little and he turns his head just enough to brush her temple with his lips, and by the time they get in the car there is no question that he is not dropping her off at a hotel.


	27. Chapter 27: Lock

After JJ kills Battle and Penelope has confirmation her suspension will be lifted, Emily takes the reins and tells them both it's girls' night. Penelope is quietly grateful – she's afraid to be alone, and doesn't want to leave JJ alone either when she feels so intensely responsible for the conflicted look in her eyes. They wait in Emily's car while she picks up wine, then she drives them to Penelope's apartment. "I hear your sofa pulls out," she says as she's parking, then snorts. "As if Morgan slept on the sofa."

"He did!" Penelope protests, and although it's perfectly true she feels her cheeks warming, and when JJ turns round with her eyebrows raised it feels almost like nothing is wrong.

"What about Kevin Lynch?" JJ asks, smiling knowingly, and Emily laughs. "Will he be sleeping on the sofa?"

Penelope swats her, although her heart is doing something skippy and not entirely unpleasant.

When they get out of the car, though, reality washes over her again in the moment it takes to remember her blood on the steps and the cop's on the sidewalk. JJ links an arm through hers as they walk up the path, and when they get inside Penelope can still feel the frantic pressure from earlier in the day, the way her stomach dropped so fast she thought she might actually throw up when she saw Battle in the bullpen. "I don't know how you guys do it," she says, her voice smaller than she meant it to be, standing just inside her living room with JJ and Emily on either side of her. "Putting yourself in the way of all that danger, all the time. How do you not just feel like –" she takes a breath and waves at herself in frustration " – _this_ all the time?"

"Hey, I lose it too," JJ says softly, and Penelope catches her throwing a glance at Emily, who looks like she doesn't quite know what to say. She chews her lip, her eyes sympathetic. "You're not supposed to be okay with what happened. Not yet."

Penelope nods, although she still can't bring herself to move past the door, and JJ and Emily don't move either. She stares into the corner where Morgan told her to stand with his gun, and finds her hands shaking. She can't imagine having to actually fire it, how she'd feel if she pulled the trigger and somebody died because of her. _God, poor JJ_ …

"You want to sit down?" Emily says eventually, her voice soft. All thoughts of Emily finding her softness ridiculous melt away when she hears the quiet concern in her voice. "If you don't mind me rooting around your kitchen, I'll pour us some wine."

Penelope nods, gestures toward the kitchen vaguely. " _Mi casa es su casa_ ," she replies, and takes a deep breath before moving toward the sofa, too aware of her pounding heart, the intense stabbing pain in her side almost an afterthought. JJ follows, half a step behind her, and Emily heads for the kitchen. "Em?" Penelope calls, as she sits on the sofa.

Emily's voice is muffled, her head in a cabinet. "Yeah?"

"There's ice cream in the freezer. Top shelf. Special occasion ice cream, with all the best calories."

While Emily finds it, Penelope turns her attention to JJ – she's staring vaguely into the rug, her shoes kicked off and one leg pulled up in front of her. "I'm really sorry," Penelope says quietly, and JJ shakes her head, gives her a reassuring smile and starts to tell her it's okay. "No," Penelope insists, her voice starting to get away from her, tears welling in her eyes. "I mean it. Morgan gave me his gun before and I couldn't even hold it… I know you've done all the training I haven't and I know in the same position you'd do it again, but I'm still sorry, okay?"

JJ closes her eyes, lets herself look lost for just a second before she pulls herself together again and squeezes Penelope's hand. She tries to say something in reply, eventually just shakes her head and smiles sadly, and it means _I love you_ , and Penelope smiles back and means she knows.

Emily comes back, a carton of ice cream in one hand and three spoons in the other, hands them to JJ and Penelope then goes back for the wine – she balances three wine glasses expertly. Just as she's about to sit down, Penelope becomes too aware of her racing heart again, and Emily catches her eye, straightening up. "You want me to lock the door?" she asks. "Makes me feel better when I'm jumpy."

"When – you're -" Penelope begins, and she knows it's ridiculous to think it, more ridiculous to make it obvious she's thinking it, but the thought that Emily is ever anything less than together is actually new to her. "Okay. Yeah, please." She digs through her purse for her keys and hands them over, and Emily's smiling a little mysteriously. "Thank you."

She feels something inside her come unclenched when the key turns in the lock, and when Emily comes back to sit with them she starts to feel warm again, like she might actually be okay.


	28. Chapter 28: Thunder

He's in his office, packing to leave later than the rest of the team but determined to make it home at a half way reasonable time tonight, when there's a knock at his door and Emily appears, coat on and bag over her shoulder. He forgets she's often here as late as him. Seeing her unexpectedly knocks the breath out of him a little, so he has to remind himself why they are not dating.

"Hey," she says, with an easy smile. "I came to say goodbye. You okay?"

"I'm fine," Hotch replies, piling files into his bag and swinging it over his shoulder. "There's a thunderstorm tonight and I want to be home with Jack by the time it hits. He's… He hasn't been good with loud noises since…" He trails off hopelessly, finding he can't quite look at her.

"Ohh," Emily replies, leaning against the doorframe until he's all packed. They leave together – she clicks his light off and closes the office door behind them. He locks it, and they head for the elevator. He looks sideways at her, watches her hesitation, and it reminds him of when things were first starting between them, making him suddenly very aware of the distance he's been putting between them in the months since Haley died. "You want company?" she asks eventually.

"Emily…"

"It's okay," she says quickly, and the elevator arrives and they get in, looking at the doors instead of at each other. "I know. But we're friends, right?"

"Right," he agrees, smiling in spite of himself. There's an anxious tightness in his stomach that makes him want to tell her no, they can't, he can't, but on the way out of the elevator she squeezes his arm and smiles, and the feeling in his stomach is not just anxiety. "Yes," he says. "If you're not busy." After too long a pause, he adds, "We'd like that."

The _we_ is there to tell her that now more than ever, Jack has to be his priority, that this is even less simple now than before. She raises her eyebrows and he realises instantly it was unnecessary, and possibly insulting. He isn't handling this well. But she doesn't say anything, just puts her keys back in her purse and follows him to his car.

It should be awkward, he thinks, as they get in the car – his mind replays the countless times since childhood he's said the wrong thing and felt an argument coming – but instead he looks at her a little apologetically and she smiles at him again. "Do we have time to stop for ice cream? I think a blanket fort might help with your thunderstorm problem."

She's right, of course. She runs into the store for ice cream and comes back with Jack's favourite without any reminders, and when they get to his place the rain is falling heavily, the wind picking up. Jack's in his pyjamas, and he smiles shyly when he sees Emily, less shyly when she holds up the ice cream. Hotch and Emily change into sweatpants and t-shirts and they build a fort with blankets and pillows and the sofa and dining table that's just about roomy enough that Hotch is aware he's brushing her arm intentionally. Haley's death is a weight of grief he can't begin to lift, but it's dark and warm and he has missed Emily like this.

At the first clap of thunder, Jack startles, curling against Hotch's side, and he feels an acute twist of guilt, holding Jack tight against him. Emily squeezes his shoulder and whispers, "Hey, Jack? If you open your eyes and look up, you can see the lightning on the blanket. It's pretty cool."

He can feel the shift in Jack's body as this catches his interest, pulls him into his lap, back against his chest so he can see the roof of their fort. The next time it lights up, Jack wiggles with excitement. "I saw it!"

A couple of seconds later, thunder rumbles again, louder and closer, and Jack flinches but Emily catches it quickly, changes the subject expertly to ice cream. And it's not perfect – his little boy is still afraid and Haley is still gone and it is still his fault. But by the time Jack falls asleep on the floor between them, things feel a little less hopeless.


	29. Chapter 29: Imaginary

JJ tells herself that given the circumstances, given everything Hastings and Askari have done to her and all the badly buried emotion it dragged up, it's okay that she isn't telling anyone exactly what she saw. One person can only take so much emotional upheaval at a time. She told Matt she was seeing things, she told the paramedics and doctors there were hallucinations, she tells the Bureau shrink next to nothing even when she knows she's risking her reinstatement…

She doesn't tell Will. There's a lot she doesn't tell him. And she thinks there's a lot he doesn't tell her.

She's known for a long time it would fall apart.

Will's first week with Henry in his new place, she tells herself not to overthink it and she buys a last minute plane ticket. She knows there's a chance Emily won't even be in London – she's not in the field as much as she was in the BAU, but she does international conferences – but she doesn't call her until she lands. She calls her office phone, thinking she'd rather leave a message with an assistant than with voicemail.

"Prentiss."

"Emily," JJ breathes, and immediately there's a painful lump in her throat.

"JJ, hi," Emily says, her voice the soft, comforting one she uses when she knows JJ is not okay – she folds herself into a hard airport chair and clings to the sound of Emily's voice. "Honey, what's wrong?" She pauses, and JJ can practically see the glance she's throwing around her office. "Isn't it an unreasonable hour for you?"

JJ laughs shakily. "We're actually in the same time zone, but I expect jetlag to make every hour unreasonable."

She imagines Emily processing, rerouting. "Where are you?"

"Heathrow airport," JJ admits, and suddenly this feels ridiculous – she should have called before, she shouldn't have assumed…

" _What_?" Emily says, and she sounds so delighted JJ actually laughs, a real laugh. "Okay, I'm coming. I'll pick you up."

"No, no, it's okay, I'll get a cab -"

"You will not. I'm coming. Stay right there. And get yourself a coffee – traffic's terrible. I'll see you soon, okay?"

She expects Emily to call her when she gets to the airport, but she doesn't – she walks confidently into the chain coffee shop JJ's sitting in, right to the back corner, and JJ is aware she's been profiled, but she doesn't say anything. She just abandons her coffee, stands, walks into Emily's arms and buries her face in her shoulder and tries not to fall apart completely.

"I got the rest of the day off," Emily says softly, without easing her grip on JJ. "I've got an on-call phone, and there's a chance I'll have to go if anything huge happens, but otherwise I'm all yours."

JJ does her best not to acknowledge the emotion that floods her when she hears those words and wants them to mean more than they do. Emily takes her for lunch somewhere fancy owned by some celebrity chef, and it's delicious. JJ doesn't say that she's had trouble eating recently, but clears her plate and they share dessert. They walk through the city for a while, and without any real discussion they drift toward Emily's place.

It's big and old and the view is spectacular.

JJ stands on the balcony while Emily gets them drinks, telling herself that this is okay, that she needed to see her best friend because everything is a mess. And then Emily comes back, her suit switched for jeans and a loose cotton t-shirt that shows so much collarbone, and all at once, it's too exhausting to pretend. Emily's eyes are dark and concerned – the eyes she hallucinated when she really thought she was going to die – and she can't take her eyes off them, can't tell herself any longer that this is anything other than what it is.

She doesn't let herself think before she does it. She takes the two drinks from Emily's hands, puts them down on the wrought iron table beside them, and steps toward Emily, slides a hand around her neck and into her hair. The need for this, for something, floods her so suddenly she has to focus on keeping her hand soft, stopping herself from tangling her hand in that hair and pulling. When their faces are an inch apart, Emily's hands squeeze JJ's hips and she says, "Are you sure -" and JJ doesn't even open her eyes, just leans in, and Emily's lips are soft and confident on hers, and as they stumble through the balcony doors and onto the sofa, JJ stops thinking about being gentle.


	30. Chapter 30: Conclusion

If she were a story, she thinks, this would be the conclusion: she walks into the FBI headquarters at Quantico, Virginia, with her Interpol ID badge and no return ticket. She applied for the transfer because no matter how great London has been to her, DC was the only place that was ever home. Finally, after chasing the copycat case here, she breathed air that smelled like home and didn't feel Doyle's looming presence, and when she got back to London she couldn't get the idea of going home out of her mind. And passing on the job felt right: she's being replaced by one of her team – a talented, driven, ferocious woman with a history of winning impossible battles, and she can't imagine anyone she'd rather hand the reins to.

The team's out on a case when she arrives – they got called out before she woke up this morning, because she's got a week of nothing but guest lectures before she starts her new job, and she can actually sleep now – but Garcia's here. She knocks her door and it flies open and she's pulled into a hug. "You're home?" Garcia asks delightedly.

"I'm home," Emily confirms, and it feels so good to say it, even better to mean it. "I am a genuine home-owning resident of Virginia."

Penelope grins, grabs her hand and pulls her into the office then steals Reid's chair from the bullpen and offers it to her. Emily sits, Garcia gets a VICAP search up and running and then spins round in her chair and starts quizzing Emily about her house, her neighbourhood, her job, what her lecture's about… Sighing happily, she adds, "I always knew you'd outrank Hotch one day. It just wasn't the same when you outranked him from London."

Emily laughs. "Well, it was never going to happen in the Bureau. We both made the same enemies here. Sketchy records and bureaucracy do the oil and water thing."

"Interpol agents must be a whole other level of sketchy," Garcia begins wistfully, then the team video call her and she swiftly rearranges herself to block the camera's view of Emily before answering. "I bid thee good morning, my knights. I'm searching VICAP for the -"

JJ's voice breaks through excitedly – "Is she there yet?"

Emily's heart warms, and it washes over her again that this is the right decision, she has done the right thing, she is home and she is staying. She can't keep the smile off her face. Penelope scoots her chair sideways and Emily comes closer, sees the team crowded into the shot – Reid is grinning his tree frog smile, JJ blowing a kiss to the camera, and Hotch is showing full dimples. Garcia squeezes her shoulder, radiating excitement. "I miss you guys," she tells them, and they tell her they miss her too, and that they will definitely have a housewarming party, and she thinks how much she didn't want that the last time she moved back, how they somehow know it's different now…

She scoots back to let them update Garcia on the profile, although she can't resist chipping in once or twice, and when she walks into the lecture hall she's met with a sea of impressed, curious faces, and it feels ridiculous, like this can't be for her, like it's a moment from the life of a woman who never loved Ian Doyle and never hated him. She clips the microphone onto her shirt, brushing the clover scar with her fingertips as she does, and tells herself she's earned this.


End file.
